Last Kid Picked
by Blaze6
Summary: Grissom, Sara, a swing set, and a conversation about revolution. G/S UST.


Title: Last Kid Picked  
  
Author: Some people call me Blaze.  
  
Summary: Grissom, Sara, a swing set, and a conversation about revolution.  
  
Rating/Spoilers: G, and a very small one for Unfriendly Skies.  
  
Feedback/Archiving: I, like most writers, enjoy feedback and/or constructive criticism. But nothing mean. And if anyone wants to archive this, I don't know why you'd want it, but ask first.  
  
Author's Notes: I've joined the ranks of a dozen other conversation fics. I hope this one is different. Um, no one else but me has read this, so if it sucks, oops. And aside from that, I just hope you enjoy it.  
  
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"My world doesn't revolve around you any more than yours revolves around me, Grissom."  
  
The pale half-light of dawn settled over the pair as the clouds turned pink, the sun glaring a deep cantaloupe color. The playground was deserted, yellow crime scene tape stretching around the perimeter, this flimsy fence both trapping and protecting the two.  
  
She dug at the sand with her shoe, holding onto the plastic-coated chain of the swing with both hands. "I loved swings when I was a kid, still do." She glanced across at his inquisitive blue eyes, giving him a small smile. "There's just something about it, it's relaxing."  
  
"Your world doesn't revolve around me?" He almost sounded disappointed.  
  
Sara laughed. "God, no." She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, leaned back and started her slow ascent into the rising sun. "I couldn't handle the pressure."  
  
"There would be pressure involved?" He remained still, perfectly willing to sit back on his swing and watch her fly.  
  
Her hand brushed his as she passed by him. "Oh, yeah. It's a lot of work, making your world revolve around someone else."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"It's more time-consuming than anything else." Her chestnut hair flowed smoothly behind her as she tilted her head back, watching him upside down as she descended. "And it's invading."  
  
"How so?"  
  
She grinned as she reached for the sun again, her back to him. "Well, what if I asked you if I could be obsessed with you? Isn't that a little invasive?"  
  
He scuffed his shoes in the sand, created a canyon. "Maybe."  
  
"Besides, I wouldn't want to give you that much control over me."  
  
An eyebrow climbed over a pair of crystal blue eyes. "Control?"  
  
He thought she nodded, but wasn't sure. "You're awfully curious about this."  
  
Now he nodded. "I'm very curious. You seem to know a lot about it."  
  
"You learn a lot about it when someone's world revolves around you." This admission came as a blur as she passed by him.  
  
"You were someone's reason for being?"  
  
She nodded. "Ken Fuller, back in '93."  
  
"The airplane guy. The chem lab TA." A faint flush rose on her skin.  
  
"Yeah. His whole world was me and chemistry. A little more chemistry than me, though."  
  
"Is that why his world is no longer allowed to revolve around you?" She was making him dizzy.  
  
She chuckled softly, pushing off into the air again. "Partially. And it's creepy. I got tired of him asking me 'How high?' when I asked him to jump. That's figuratively, not literally."  
  
"Sara?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"How high?" He grinned as she exploded into laughter.  
  
"I don't want your world to revolve around me, Grissom." The sun sent a ray directly onto her moving frame, illuminating and emphasizing her point. "It's not healthy. And I'm not worth it."  
  
"Yes, you are." She turned her head sharply to shoot him a startled look, which he shrugged at. "Don't act like you'd be the last kid picked, Sara."  
  
"The last kid picked?"  
  
He shrugged. "The judge of playground popularity, choosing teams. The ranking of social status at age ten. The mental equivalent of the physical positioning of a wolf pack."  
  
She cut through the air like a hawk. "Oh, right. I remember."  
  
"You would never be my last pick," he admitted quietly.  
  
She sent him an amused half-smile, slowing to a stop. "You won't be mine."  
  
He reached out a hand to grab the chain on her swing, steadying the moving object. "Breakfast?"  
  
"Maybe tomorrow," she said. "I have sand in my shoes and grocery shopping to do."  
  
"You don't go to the grocery store."  
  
"Laundry, then."  
  
"Ditching me and food for dirty socks?"  
  
"My world does not revolve around you, Grissom. Remember?" He was treated to the sight of a full-blown Sara smile.  
  
"I don't understand what that has to do with eating a meal with me."  
  
"I don't, either." They both chuckled, rising from the swings, the sand crunching under their shoes as they walked back towards the parking lot.  
  
He held up the crime scene tape to allow her to pass underneath, asking as she did, "You like French toast?"  
  
"Love it."  
  
"I know a little restaurant out near the airport that makes great French toast."  
  
"Laundry, Grissom. Not food."  
  
He shrugged. "Okay. But I'll be there later if you get done with your laundry." Blue met brown for a long silent moment. "JoAnn's."  
  
"Okay." Another long silent moment. "So, if I'm not your last pick, what pick am I?"  
  
"What pick am I?" he challenged.  
  
She laughed, climbing into her Tahoe and starting the SUV. "If I plead the fifth, will you be mad?"  
  
"No."  
  
A sweet, small grin washed over her. "First," she said, then turned the vehicle around and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving him standing with a small smile of his own.  
  
"Me, too," he told the sun, the sky, the asphalt. "Me, too." 


End file.
